Sister Souljah - Life After Death

I was offered a menu of languages. I of course chose my language, English. The English page popped up. “Type in your name.” I began typing in Brooklyn, I pressed the b, then the r, then the o , and remembered. Do not tell a lie. I paused for a minute and asked myself, Does that also mean not to type a lie? I wasn’t sure. But whatever, I deleted. Then I typed in my real name, Winter Santiaga. The next prompt was for me to press print. I did. A ticket printed out and I took it. It had my name printed on it. Below my name was an appointment notification for me with a self-reflection counselor named Dr. Amal Janebi for tomorrow at 7 a.m. It listed my dormitory assignment, the Princess Residence, room 7. On the backside there was a small map of the route from the hall to the dorm. I pressed “continue” on the touch screen. The following screen gave me an assignment. “Write specifically and clearly what you believe are the reasons that your soul was sent to the Last Stop Before the Drop.” I read the question over and over again. Then there was a second assignment. “Write an essay describing any and all of the things that you were and are grateful for, prior to, and after, life.” The third task was listed as a group assignment to be completed along with residence roommates. I was instructed to bring the essays and a copy of the completed group assignment to the self-reflection counselor, Dr. Amal. I pressed “continue.” Behind a green backdrop was printed in huge letters the words THANK YOU. The screen switched to a flashing exit sign. I stepped back. I looked around the hall trying to see where Pretty was. I did not see her. I looked down at the map. A guide stationed by my computer was watching me. I decided to follow the map rather than to ask her for help. It seemed that was her plan too. She did not step up to point the route out to me. But in her eyes was the words, Keep it moving . I guess so, they had to do this same routine six more times to accommodate the six hundred or so women remaining in the previous hall.

“I prayed that we would be in the same room,” Pretty said as I entered room seven. Instead of the roach-motel feeling I got from the convent, this room was made of pink marble and was wide and long enough to comfortably accommodate seven. At least I counted seven single beds each placed against one of the walls. There was a stand with a book holder atop. And on it was that great big book, oh no. The same unreasonably long book that Bomber Girl had given me. Beside that stand was another stand with a great big dictionary. There was one two-seater desk and two tablets laid at the center of it, as well as a stack of paper, pencils, and pens. There were five girls in the room. I was quickly deciding whether I needed to approach this situation like jail or not. The bed next to Pretty where I wanted to set up was occupied. Should I ask her to get up? Or should I just take it? Or should I just walk to one of the only two beds available? So I yanked the girl from the bed opposite Pretty’s. Her ass hit the floor. She jumped up. I expected her to back down. Instead she cocked her hand back and slapped me across my face with full force. “Who do you think you are?” she said with an unintimidated fierceness. “Your bed is there. Go to it, quietly.” She ordered me like I was her underling. I could feel the sting from the slap. If I had a mirror and a reflection, I would probably see a bright red handprint on my beautiful skin.

“You didn’t have to go that far,” Pretty scolded the slapper.

“You want to be next?” the slapper asked Pretty boldly. I rushed forward and pushed her with full force. She fell back. Two of the girls that were seated on their beds watching us rushed over and helped the slapper up. I sized up the situation. Okay, two against three, and one neutral bitch, seated at the desk writing and ignoring. The slapper was back on her feet and refocused. She charged at me. Pretty tripped her but she broke the fall and grabbed me around the waist and ran me towards a vacant bed. I fell back on the mattress. She landed on top of me. We was thumping. Pretty was trying to pull us apart. The two other bitches were trying to rescue the slapper. But we were entangled and jabbing each other wherever our fists landed. Pretty took off one slide and commenced to beating the slapper with it. The slapper got enraged. She mustered up some type of superpower and threw me off of her. She got close up in Pretty’s face saying, “You dare to touch me with something from off of your foot.” She grabbed Pretty’s slide from her hand and slapped Pretty’s face with the bottom of the shoe. I threw off the hooded garment I was wearing, twisted it how we twisted towels on lock to whip bitches who needed whipping. But I used it as a rope instead. It landed over the slapper and I used it to drag her back from Pretty’s face. Now the slapper was like a rebellious dog on my leash. The slapper went crazy. She was kicking her feet and flailing her arms trying to land hits and get loose at the same time. Pretty dived down and hugged the slapper’s calves to keep her still. One of the two bitches who had just been watching ran over and stuck me in the ass with a sharp thing. It felt like it pierced my ass, causing me to involuntarily let go of the twisted whipping roping garment. The other of the two walked in between the brawl separating me and Pretty on one side and the slapper and the one girl helping her on the other said, “Listen, I don’t want any trouble here. Yesterday I would’ve pounded in your face for starting this bullshit. But I’m trying. We were all getting along before you just got here. Please take one of the two open beds available.” She was talking down to me. I smiled at her to throw her off guard. I walked towards her like I was about to apologize. Soon as she returned the smile I snuffed her. When I did our residence door opened. All of us scattered to any open bed and sat. Guess we all thought it was the authorities. It wasn’t. It was Bridgette.

She looked around at our tight, warlike faces. “What the fuck!” she said. “We are all women. We are not the villains. We are the victims who fight the goddamn villains!” she said in her passionate style, then rushed in and leaped on to Pretty’s bed and hugged her. “Come on everybody, group hug.” Pretty and Bridgette ended up walking over to where I was seated on the bed and hugging me. After the hug, we all three sat on the same bed with our backs up against the wall. The slapper and her two assistants moved back to their original beds where they were seated when I had first arrived. The bitch at the desk never even looked up from what she was doing. The way I factored it, now it’s three against three. The study bitch don’t count. No matter what Bridgette said, she was gonna be on me and Pretty’s side. I didn’t give a fuck that I rolled the slapper first and bed-jacked her. The way she slapped me was the same as if she said, “You no-class, low-class slave…” Or some shit like that. I could feel that she thought she was superior and I was way beneath her. I’ll never let nobody get away with ever thinking some shit like that even quietly in their own mind. She and me are gonna face off again sooner than later.

Pretty, seeing the anger still moving in me, tried to dramatically switch the topics and thought process.

“So there is this assignment that everybody in the room has to work on together,” Pretty announced. Now she sounded like a college bitch to me. I remember that she said she went to some university.

“I hate group assignments. I hate group dorms. I hate when anyone forces me to be a part of any group anything,” the study bitch said, finally looking up from her work. “It’s always a bunch of sorry somethings. I already did the definitions. Take your copies. Go ahead, take credit for what I did,” she said and she was a bitter bitch.